


Brandywine

by bennyboyTallmadge



Series: platonic!Washette [2]
Category: 18th Century CE RPF, American Revolution RPF, Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Battle of Brandywine, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Injury, September 1777, platonic!Washette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:34:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27367372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bennyboyTallmadge/pseuds/bennyboyTallmadge
Summary: September 1777: Lafayette is injured in his first battle at Brandywine Creek. Washington worries about him more than he wishes to.
Relationships: Gilbert du Motier Marquis de Lafayette/George Washington
Series: platonic!Washette [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/836010
Comments: 4
Kudos: 50





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> This story is based on the events at Brandywine Creek, where Lafayette was injured in his first battle. At this point, he had been in America for roughly a month. Lafayette was hit by a bullet, which went straight through his calf, while he attempted to organize an orderly retreat. His aide, Gimat, noticed that blood was leaking from his boot and wrapped his leg in a makeshift bandage, after which Lafayette retreated with the rest of the army. According to historian David Clary, Lafayette was close to being unconscious when Washington found him, and the commander-in-chief ordered his personal physician to take care of Lafayette.  
> The battle of Brandywine was a crucial moment in the early stages of Lafayette and Washington's friendship since it revealed to Lafayette the extend to which Washington already cared about him - When the General later arrived at the church Lafayette was being treated in, Washington told the surgeon that he wanted him to take care of Lafayette as though he were Washington's son, for he loved him the same.
> 
> So much for the historical background; there will be a second part coming soon, written from Washington's point of view, covering the famous "Treat him like my own son"-scene. 
> 
> Have fun, and feedback is always greatly appreciated!

“‘ _Take care of him as if he were my son,’ Lafayette remembered the general saying, ‘for I love him the same.’”_

 _(_ Adopted Son _, p. 117)_

**Part I**

Lafayette had always dreamed of the battlefield. Ever since he had read stories of heroic warriors fighting and dying for their country and their people, he had been captured by the idea that, one day, he would be able to count himself among these brave men. As a boy, he had roamed through the woods of Auvergne, imagining he was a soldier chasing the enemy, or a hero destined to slay an evil beast. As a youth, parading with the musketeers in front of the king, he had closed his eyes and pretended that he was marching into battle, and not just for show. He was destined for something greater than parades and the court, he knew. One day, he would be able to demonstrate his zeal and his courage.

Now, there was no longer the need for closing his eyes or pretending to be someone or somewhere he was not. Through the thick layers of fog and smoke hanging over the meadows of Brandywine Creek, Lafayette could make out the silhouettes of American and British soldiers engaged in a desperate fight, their screams drowning in the deafening sound of the cannons. Hundreds of muskets were being fired, and from his position, Lafayette could only guess whether the bullets had hit or missed their targets. He and some of the commanding officers were observing the situation from some distance, and only reluctantly had he obeyed General Washington’s order to stay by his side and not charge right into battle as soon as he had arrived. He felt useless, watching the battle unfold from afar, not being able to intercept. Apparently, his horse had noticed his unease. The gelding was pawing the ground with his front hoof, eager to run instead of keeping still. Lafayette had trouble holding him in line and saving himself from the embarrassment of not being able to control his mount. At least the two of them were of the like mind, he thought to himself, while once again swallowing his anger about not being allowed to join the fight.

Generals Sullivan and Stephen were facing a deadly offense by Cornwallis’ Hessians and Lafayette felt horrible knowing that their men were dying on the field while he was sitting here on his horse, idly watching the scenery. For what felt like the twentieth time, Lafayette glanced over to Washington, looking for a sign in his stoic face that he might change his stance of not letting him join the battle. The General was watching the battlefield, his face a cold mask of equanimity. As much as Lafayette wanted to fight for glory and the cause he believed in, he also wanted to earn the general’s respect and prove himself worthy. The mere rank of Major-General did not satisfy him – What was a general who had never fought a single fight, but a target of ridicule and envy? _Your time will come, Marquis,_ Washington had told him a few days earlier, when he had asked the General for a field command in the upcoming battle. _For now, you will have to stand aside and stay out of the firing lines._ Damned be standing aside and staying out of trouble! Lafayette wanted to fight. He was just about to grudgingly accept his fate, when Washington raised his voice.

“General Greene! Take your men and join Sullivan. His flank is falling apart.”

Although he sounded calm, Lafayette did not miss the sense of urgency in his words. The Continental Army was coming closer and closer to a devastating defeat and Washington was good enough of a general to recognize his last chances. Sensing his opportunity, Lafayette urged his horse over to where Washington and his mount were standing.

“General Washington, Sir, please, let me join them! I’m sure I will be able to be of use!” he pleaded. Washington turned around to face him. As usual, his expression was unreadable. Lafayette believed he could make out a mixture of annoyance and worry, but he could not be entirely sure.

“Marquis-”, he began, but Lafayette, in the heat of the moment, interrupted him.

“Please, Sir, let me fight!”

Next to him, Greene was already ordering his men in line, ready to fall out. Finally, Washington nodded, his lips pressed together to a thin line. Lafayette hoped that he had not offended the commander, but even if so, he had finally gotten the chance to make an impression on him in battle. He was just about to spur his horse and join Greene’s men, when he heard Washington’s voice beside him.

“Marquis,” there was that certain sense of urgency again. Lafayette turned his head and witnessed Washington’s expression turn soft for a split-second, before he restored his stoic mask. “Do be careful.”

Lafayette felt a sudden sense of warmth in his chest at Washington’s words. He had not been aware that the General was worried about his safety, and it filled him with a mixture of pride and affection. In the last few weeks, the first tender bands of friendship had begun to form between the two of them, and Lafayette savored every sign that the general, whom he had been admiring from the day he had first met him, had taken a liking in him. He gave Washington a bright smile and nodded. The general reciprocated his smile, although much more reserved, with a barely noticeable upward-turn of his lips. Lafayette felt Washington’s eyes on his back as he turned his horse around to catch up with Greene and his men.

His heart started to race in his chest at the realization that he was only seconds away from fighting his first battle. He would have lied, had he claimed that he was without fear, as he saw the enemy lines coming closer. Too easy would it be for a bullet to end his life here and now, or at least to injure him gravely. The smoke of the cannons and muskets burned in his eyes and he had to suppress the urge to cough. His horse trembled underneath him with every shot fired from the cannons and Lafayette reached down to pat his neck in a calming gesture.

“Charge Bayonets!” he heard Greene yell from a few yards away, and he gripped his horse’s reins tighter, partly to make sure the animal would not flee in panic at the sound of the firing weapons, but also to keep his own fingers from shaking around the leather. The Americans had not yet fired their first shots, when the men in the front lines were already hit by British bullets. When the smoke cleared for a few moments, Lafayette saw that the redcoats were closer than he would have estimated them to be. In contrast to the American troops, who already appeared quite decimated wherever he looked, the British lines appeared to be still intact and in order. His breath caught in his throat, when an American soldier kneeling only a few feet away, aiming his rifle at the enemy lines, was suddenly struck by a bullet in the chest, causing him to fall to the ground with a horrible scream. Lafayette’s first instinct was to help the man, but he knew that there was nothing he could have done to save him. Thus, he could only urge his horse to catch up with Greene, closer to the enemy lines.

The next half hour was a blurred mass of blood, smoke and gunfire. Lafayette felt as though he was caught in a feverish dream. From atop his horse, he was in a favorable position and he was able to oversee the battle and fire multiple shots from his pistol. By now, it was not a fight from afar only, but some of the men were engaging in one-to-one struggles with the redcoats. Unfortunately, the British began to gain the upper hand, with their lines still mostly intact, releasing their deadly cascades into the scattering American lines. Around himself, Lafayette saw dozens of wounded and dead men, the screams of those unlucky enough to be still alive ringing in his ears like sounds from hell, sending shivers down his spine.

It was only now, that Lafayette realized, that most of the men were retreating although no one had ordered them to. Right next to him, a young man picked his rifle from the ground and started to run, away from the enemy lines. Many more followed suit.

“No, no, no!”, he yelled at them, attempting to signal them to stay in line, but to no avail. The men were too afraid to continue any further. Lafayette saw the American lines fall apart piece by piece in front of his eyes and his heart sank. These cowards! They should have stayed in line and least allowed the generals an orderly retreat, which would have been less shameful than a panicked flight. He could not let this happen. Lafayette pressed his calves into his horse’s sides and urged it into a gallop. Riding back and forth in front of the men, he attempted to keep them from running even further away from the British.

“Stay in line!”, he yelled, “stay in line!”

General Greene, too, struggled to keep his men in order and soon joined Lafayette in his efforts of turning the fleeing soldiers back around. However, even the presence of two generals right in front of them did not seem to be able to convince them that running away was the worst possible option. By now, Lafayette was boiling with anger. This was an embarrassment not only for the army, but also for him personally. He had pleaded for the opportunity to join the fight and now he could not even organize an orderly retreat. There was only one option left for him, and Lafayette knew he was getting himself into great danger by acting on it. However, he knew that he would forever regret not taking this final chance. 

Unceremoniously, Lafayette leaped off his horse, throwing himself right in front of the fleeing men.

“Stay in line!”, he yelled again, his voice getting hoarse. He saw the confusion in the soldiers’ faces at the general’s behavior. A general did usually not get off his horse if he could avoid it.

“Marquis! What on earth are you doing?”, he heard Greene yell, but he paid him no mind. He had to do this, or this retreat would end in disaster.

“You fools! Stay in line! We will have an orderly retreat!”

Lafayette grabbed the man closest to him by the collar and shoved him back in direction of the British lines. The man appeared so startled that he, to Lafayette’s surprise, indeed began moving in the right direction. A few others, though reluctantly, joined him. Lafayette knew that the battle was lost, but at least he wanted to manage an honorable retreat.

He felt a slight pain in his left leg, but in the heat of the battle, with his blood still boiling and his heart racing in his chest, he did not really pay it any mind. He probably had twisted his ankle while jumping off his horse, nothing more. Choosing to ignore the pain, he continued his efforts of saving the Americans from a fate more shameful than defeat. 

“You!”, he pushed another man who was attempting to get past him, “Do not dare turn around again!”

Slowly but certainly, his strategy proved to be effective. Although the men were still retreating, they at least now managed to do so in a somewhat orderly fashion. He heard the company drummer signal retreat and although the sound filled his chest with anger and shame, he knew that not long ago, the battle’s outcome could have been even worse. A few minutes later, Greene’s men rejoined what remained of Sullivan’s troops. They were to retreat to Chester to meet with the main army and General Washington. Lafayette’s heart sank at the thought of Washington learning of their defeat. He hoped that he would not be angry with him, and that he would not refrain from sending Lafayette into battle once more, given the chance.

“Marquis! Sir!”

Lafayette turned around to see Gimat, his aide, hurrying toward him, leading two horses. He smiled at the Frenchman, glad to see him alive and well. Gimat, however, did not return his smile but stared at him, wide-eyed.

“It is good to-”, he began, but Gimat interrupted him.

“What happened? Sir, your leg!”

“What do you mean? My leg is fine, I just-”

Lafayette fell silent when he suddenly became aware of the reason for Gimat’s worry. As he looked down to where he had noticed the slight sting earlier, he realized that the cause of his pain was by no means but a sprained ankle. Blood was leaking from his boot, and his breeches were soaking red all the way up to his knee. It took him another few seconds, but the moment he became aware of the graveness of his injury, the pain began to hit him. With the heat and the adrenaline gradually draining from his body, he was no longer able to ignore the wound, afflicted to him probably by an enemy bullet. Wide-eyed, he gasped, reaching for Gimat’s shoulder. His aide quickly caught him and helped him to lower himself to the ground.

“We need to get your boot off, Sir,” he said, already pulling at it. Lafayette groaned in pain at the sudden movement and roughly removed Gimat's hand.

“No, I must stay with the army, you need to help me get on a horse,” he managed to say, while he already attempted to rise to his feet again.

“Sir, at least let me bandage your wound, you will be losing too much blood if you continue like this!”

Gimat, lacking a better option, had already begun to loosen his own neck cloth, apparently intending to use it as a makeshift bandage. Lafayette gritted his teeth and let himself sink onto the grass again. By now, the pain was spreading through his entire leg, making every movement agonizingly painful. How on earth had he not noticed the injury earlier? He must have been hit at some point after he had gotten off his horse, while rallying the men for an orderly retreat. Well, courageous action in battle required sacrifices, he knew, but did it really have to hurt that much? 

His thoughts were interrupted by Gimat touching his leg again and he had to suppress the urge to scold him for it once more. He knew that Gimat was right, he was losing a significant amount of blood and they were miles away from the next surgeon. 

"The bullet appears to have gone through your calf," Gimat observed, "If you are lucky, there are no pieces of it left in the wound." 

Lafayette wanted to hum as a sign of acknowledgment, but it ended up sounding more like a groan.

"Alright, Sir, I will wrap your leg now. I will try to be careful, but I am afraid this is going to hurt," Gimat warned him. Lafayette only nodded, bracing himself for the pain. He felt as though his leg was on fire, when Gimat tied the cloth around his calf atop of the boot and he dug his fingers into the soft grass underneath him to prevent himself from making embarrassing noises. The white fabric turned red in a matter of seconds and Lafayette cursed under his breath. Gimat looked up at him with a worried expression. 

"I cannot do anything else at the moment, Sir, let us hope that this will be enough to stop the bleeding. You will need a surgeon as soon as possible," he said, already rising to his feet. Lafayette took the hand Gimat offered him and tried his best to ignore the jolts of pain in his leg as he stood up as well. The greater part of the troops had already passed them and thus, Lafayette was eager to catch up with Greene and Sullivan. Mounting a horse, however, proved more difficult than expected. His left leg, which he needed to put in the stirrup first to push himself up into the saddle, was practically useless now. Swallowing the bitter taste of embarrassment at needing help like an old man, he allowed Gimat to assist him in mounting the horse. Luckily, the gelding was a loyal soul and followed his rider's directions even though they lacked their usual assertiveness. Gimat and Lafayette rode past the infantry regiments who were marching more or less in their regular order by now. It was hard to miss, however, that many men had lost their lives on the battlefield today. Lafayette estimated that Greene and Sullivan had lost around a third of their troops. 

General Greene gave Lafayette a concerned look as he noticed the makeshift bandage around the Marquis' leg. 

"I see you paid a high price for your engagement earlier," he said, stirring his horse next to Lafayette so that he could lower his voice. "We will reach Chester in around an hour, the commander will meet us there. He will make sure that your leg is looked after." 

Lafayette nodded and gave Greene a smile despite the pain he was in. 

"You saved quite a few men today. And you spared us the embarrassment of looking like a bunch of cowards. Well done, Marquis," he added and Lafayette's smile grew wider. To hear the praise of a senior officer was almost enough to compensate for the wound he had suffered. He hoped that Washington, too, was going to give him credit for his conduct in battle. At least he now had the wound to prove his unyielding devotion to the American cause. 

With the rest of the adrenaline having vanished by now, Lafayette was beginning to feel how tired he was. His body ached with exhaustion and although it was still quite warm, he started shivering. A glance at his left boot confirmed that he was still losing a considerable amount of blood. Had he been certain earlier that the journey to Chester would not pose a problem to him, he now wished for time to pass faster. His horse's every movement made his leg ache more. He was glad that Greene and Gimat were riding right next to him, since he felt as though he was about to fall off his horse, were he to relax his muscles for more than a second.

By the time they finally reached the town of Chester and the rest of the army, Lafayette was reeling in his saddle. The sun had begun to set and the temperatures were sinking with the onset of the night, and Lafayette could no longer contain his shivering. Black spots were dancing before his eyes and it took him everything that was left of his energy to keep himself at least somewhat upright. He had to stay awake at all cost, he knew; he had heard too many stories of men falling unconscious from blood loss and never waking again for him to allow himself to drift off into sleep, although this surely would have been the easier option. 

Greene grabbed him by the shoulder, startling Lafayette who, for the past half hour, had been staring straight ahead in an effort to keep the throbbing pain in his leg at bay. 

“Stay here, I will report to Washington. You need not come along,” he said, dismissing Lafayette’s weak protest with a gesture of his hand. He did not want to stay behind as though he was useless, but at the moment, he lacked the energy to speak up against Greene. Lafayette halted his horse and watched as Greene rode off. Washington was speaking to General Stephen a few yards away and the commander did not seem to have taken notice of their arrival yet. When Greene rode up to him, Washington turned around, briefly looking over to Lafayette. The confusion was written on his face, when he saw that the Marquis was clutching his horse’s reins, barely able to hold himself upright. Lafayette was glad when Washington focused his attention on Greene, which spared him the embarrassment of looking like he was about to slide off his horse at any second. He could not hear what they were talking about, but he figured his injury was at least one of the topics, given that Washington glanced over to him every few seconds. 

Eventually, he saw how Washington nodded at Greene and then turned his horse around to ride over to Lafayette. He attempted to straighten up in his saddle but the movement made his head spin and his leg throb angrily, and thus, he had to accept that he would not look very presentable to the commander. Washington’s face did not show much emotional turmoil, as usual, but Lafayette could still see how his lips were pressed together in a thin line as he laid eyes upon the Marquis’ injured leg. 

“Marquis,” he addressed him, “General Greene has notified me of your injury. I have already summoned a surgeon for you. He should be here in no time. Tell me, what happened?”

Lafayette believed to hear traces of worry in the General’s voice which was otherwise steady and calm.

“ _Mon général,_ I-” Lafayette began, but the moment he turned his upper body toward Washington, a wave of dizziness took hold of him and he fell silent again, gripping his horse's mane in an attempt to stabilize himself. Quicker than Lafayette's clouded mind could follow, Washington dismounted and rushed to his side, taking hold of his upper arm to keep the reeling Marquis from falling off his horse. From what seemed like miles away, he heard how Washington ordered Gimat to assist him in helping Lafayette to dismount. Leaning heavily on Washington's shoulder, Lafayette somehow managed to swing his uninjured leg over the saddle and slide to the ground. Although Washington and Gimat were quick to support him on each side, he could not avoid putting some weight on his left leg, causing a sharp jolt of pain. He had to use his entire force of will to stop his knees from buckling. When Washington heard his pained hiss, he put Lafayette's arm around his shoulder, allowing him to stand on his uninjured leg only. Lafayette was grateful for the small relief. 

Everything around him seemed to happen incredibly slow and fast at the same time and it was exhausting to follow his surroundings. It would have been so easy to just close his eyes for a moment and- 

"Marquis!" 

Washington's voice catapulted him back into the present. Had he fallen unconscious? Judging from the expression on the General's face, which was now significantly more worried than earlier, he had. 

"Stay awake, at least until the surgeon arrives. That is an order," he said, but he sounded too concerned for his words to be anywhere near intimidating. Lafayette nodded and blinked a few times to clear his vision from the cloudy spots dancing in front of his eyes. Washington did not speak again until the physician finally arrived, but still, his presence was enough to calm the rising fear in Lafayette’s chest when he sensed himself growing tired again. 

Eventually, Dr. Cochran, Washington's personal surgeon, arrived. With a quick glance at Lafayette's leg, he ordered him to sit down, so he could assess the wound. Washington and Gimat lowered him to the ground. 

"I hope you were not too fond of these boots," Cochran said, while he removed the blood-soaked cloth and pulled off his boot. Lafayette averted his eyes as the pain brought tears to his eyes. He felt as though his entire leg was on fire. 

"Doctor, you must stop the bleeding, he is weakened from blood loss already," he heard Washington's voice nearby, sounding strangely strained. Cochran remained silent, closely examining the wound before pouring some alcohol on it to prevent it from getting infected. Lafayette watched as the surgeon wrapped his leg in a fresh bandage. He knew that this was only a temporary measure and that his wound would have to be properly cleaned later, a procedure which he already dreaded. As he had expected, the new bandage did not succeed in stopping the bleeding altogether. He hoped that with some proper care, this would change soon, as he felt himself grow weaker as time passed. 

Washington, too, appeared to have noticed the red stains on the cloth. He had been observing Lafayette's treatment, and although Sullivan had come to speak to him, Lafayette had not missed how he was more focused on the Marquis and his injury than on his subordinate's report. 

"Are you certain that this will be sufficient?", Lafayette heard the General ask and Cochran paused in his movement. 

"With all due respect, Sir, I know what I am doing. I assure you that I will do my best to help him," he said. Washington appeared irritated for a moment, but he fell quiet. Lafayette looked up at him and gave him what he hoped resembled a smile. He had to confess that he found it quite endearing how concerned the General appeared to be about his well-being, and it demonstrated that the affections of a beginning friendship were not only present on Lafayette's side. Despite the graveness of his situation, Lafayette felt a sense of warmth in his chest.

"I shall be alright in no time, _mon général,_ " he said, hoping that he was going to be right. Washington returned his smile in his usual, reserved way, though the deep crease on his forehead remained.

"Allright," Cochran said and rose to his feet, "this will have to do for now, Marquis, but we will bring you to a nearby church to care for the wound properly. It is too dusty out here and wounds like yours tend to become inflamed quite easily." 

Lafayette nodded. He was already feeling as though he was going to fall unconscious again and he fought the approaching darkness with all that was left of his energy. Through a thick fog, he heard how Washington told the surgeon that he would come to the church later, after finishing reports on the battle. When Gimat and two other men he did not recognize picked him up to carry him to what he assumed would be the church Cochran had spoken of, he drifted off into the comfort of darkness.


	2. Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here comes Part 2! I'd be delighted to hear your feedback on this story. Stay safe and healthy!

When he sat down this evening to write a quick report to Congress about the battle at Brandywine Creek, General Washington was deep in thought. The Continental Army had suffered yet another defeat, and Washington, being the commander-in-chief, had to offer Congress an explanation for the troops' poor performance. They had been outmanned, and the British commanded an army that had received extensive military training, unlike the American troops that consisted mainly of farmers and artisans who might have shot a rifle during a hunt, but not in battle. There was a lot of work ahead of him, Washington knew, until he would be able to form a real army out of the men under his command. 

Washington sighed and began to write. His thoughts, however, were otherwise occupied. There were rumors among the officers, he knew, that Congress would soon replace him as commander-in-chief, and install another General that they thought was better fit for leading the army to victory. Even his own generals sometimes expressed criticism of his tactics and the longer he thought about their words, the more certain he became that they would not protest his replacement, should Congress decide to remove him. 

After today's defeat, it was only a matter of a few days until the royal forces would march into Philadelphia, occupying the heart of the American insurgence. Not only was the city an important strategic position, it also was a place of symbolic significance to the patriots. The men would be disheartened, once the city in which their Declaration of Independence had been drafted would be taken over by the British. 

Washington signed the report and folded the paper. By now, the sun had almost fully set. A night like any other, had not hundreds of men lost their lives today. But not only the defeat at Brandywine troubled his mind. Lafayette's injury caused him more worry than he had anticipated. Yes, he had grown quite fond of the Frenchman in the past weeks, but still, he found himself significantly more concerned about his well-being than usually when one of his generals was injured in combat. 

When Washington had found the Marquis earlier, the boy had barely been able to hold himself upright in the saddle, and although he had been trying to conceal the amount of pain he was in, Washington had not missed how he had been hissing and trembling with every movement of his injured leg. He had seen many injuries, and many of them worse than that which the Marquis had suffered, but for some reason, it was a lot more painful to him to see Lafayette wounded than most others of his officers. Not only was he by far the youngest General in the army - he had turned twenty just a few days ago - Washington had also been entrusted with his safety. Lafayette was a valuable asset, considering his influence at the French court and the potential role he could play in forming an alliance between the United States and his mother country. To Washington, however, the Marquis had quickly become more than just a means to eventually convince the French king to join the American war for independence. From the moment he had first met him, Washington's instinct, against his better will, had been to shield the boy from any harm. What an irony, considering that Lafayette had come to America for the sole purpose of fighting a war. Yes, he had denied Lafayette a field command due to his lack of experience and in order not to offend the older generals, but parts of him had also secretly hoped to keep the young man away from the firing lines a little while longer.

Washington gritted his teeth when he became aware of the idiocy of this thought. Lafayette did not even want to be kept out of danger, quite the contrary - he had practically begged to join the fight, and once the permission to do so had been granted, he had not shown a single moment of hesitancy or cowardice. There was no longer a doubt that the Marquis deserved his rank, despite the fact that the other generals were almost all twice or more his age. 

A glance at his pocket watch told him that it was already seven o'clock. Washington rose from his desk and slipped into his coat. He wanted to pay Lafayette another visit before the morning, when the injured men would be shipped off to Philadelphia for medical care. He knew that he would not rest easily without making sure that the young Frenchman was given proper treatment. He considered it his duty to do so, especially after he had not been able to prevent Lafayette from suffering an injury. 

Since the church in which the wounded were receiving first aid was not far from camp and given that a large part of the troops were still moving, Washington decided that it would be safe enough to cover the short distance without a guard. 

When he arrived at the church, it was dark outside. The stars were visible in the cloudless sky and Washington glanced up at them for a few seconds. The night was far too calm for the events that had taken place during daytime. Shaking his head at this sentimental thought, he removed his tricorn before entering the building. Washington was not a religious man, but he knew better than to not show respect. The guards watching the main entrance quickly stepped aside for the General. It was a relatively small church, but still, Washington needed a few moments to orientate himself. In the main room - and also outside the church, since there were too many injured men to treat them all inside - the men of the lower ranks were being cared for. Washington clenched his jaw at the sight. What had once been a place of peaceful worship was now the site of cruel suffering. He saw men squirming in pain while nurses assessed their wounds, and their screams echoed in Washington's ears like sounds directly from hell. He quickly dismissed the feeling of guilt rising in his stomach at the thought that he had been the one ordering these men into battle. They were fighting for a greater good and for their homes, he reminded himself. 

"Your Excellency!" 

Washington was glad that someone addressed him, and thus gave him a reason to avert his eyes from all the blood and misery. 

"Ah, Dr. Cochran," he greeted the physician when he recognized him. Cochran wiped traces of blood off his hands with a somewhat clean cloth and gave him a tired smile. 

"I presume you have come to inquire about the Marquis' injury," he said and Washington nodded. 

"How is he?," he asked, hoping he did not sound as concerned as he felt. To his surprise, Cochran smiled at the question. 

"Well, how should I say, he is definitely keeping his humor. We had some officers come into the room I was treating him in, and apparently they were looking so hungry that he asked them not to eat him," he explained and Washington could not help a quiet chuckle escaping him. In the past weeks, he had grown quite fond of the Frenchman's humor and he was glad to hear that Lafayette was still himself, even though he presumably was in a great amount of pain. 

"But let me be clear, Sir," Cochran continued, "he suffered extensive damage to his leg, and he will need at least two months of rest in order to fully recover. He was lucky in so far as that his bone is still intact. I'm afraid he will not be able to partake in combat until the end of the year." 

Washington nodded, the smile having faded from his lips. He forced himself not to think about the boy's prognosis, had the bullet shattered his bone instead of merely damaging muscles and tendons. Seeing Lafayette crippled for the rest of his young life was too horrible a thought. 

"May I see him?," he then asked and to his relief, Cochran nodded. 

"Right this way, Sir." 

The physician signaled Washington to follow him. He led him to a small chamber that was separated from the main room. In front of the wooden door, Cochran halted. 

"Please make sure not to excite him too much. He is still weak from blood loss and needs to rest," he advised Washington before he opened the door for the General to step inside. 

Washington found Lafayette lying on a cot at the far side of the room. Two candles were lit next to him on a small table, bathing the small chamber in a dim but warm light. When Lafayette heard the door being opened, he raised his head to see who was entering the room. Recognizing the General, he attempted to maneuver himself into a sitting position. 

" _ Mon général- _ ", he started, but Washington was quick to interrupt him.

"At ease, Marquis, at ease." He closed the door behind himself and took off his cloak. "Do not exert yourself, not with your injury." 

Reluctantly, Lafayette obeyed and let himself sink back onto the cot. Washington saw how his face twisted in pain at the movement. He was pale, even more than usually, and the pain was visible in the boy's eyes, even though he had a talent of hiding it quite well. 

Washington moved the only chair in the room closer to Lafayette's cot and sat down. He noticed that the Marquis was still wearing his uniform, with the now dried blood on his breeches as a remembrance of what had happened. Someone had taken off his coat and folded it as a makeshift pillow below his head. In the heat of the battle, most of the powder in his hair had vanished, revealing its auburn color. Washington stole a quick glance at Lafayette's leg. His entire calf was wrapped in bandages, and from what he could see, the bleeding had stopped by now. Lafayette appeared somewhat nervous, he was fidgeting with the seam of his waistcoat, visibly embarrassed by his inability to do more than lie down. 

"How do you feel?", Washington finally asked, breaking the silence. 

Lafayette gave him a weak smile. "Like a man with a hole in his leg," he said in his heavily accented English and Washington could not help but return his smile. 

"Are you in pain?", he inquired, although the answer was written on Lafayette's face. 

"It is alright, I am sure it will fade soon," the Marquis replied. Washington was just about to assure him of Dr. Cochran’s extraordinary abilities as a surgeon, when Lafayette continued to speak, with obvious worry in his expression.

“Sir, I will return to the army as soon as I can. I am sure I will be able to be of use in this cause in a few weeks, when-”

“None of this now.” Washington interrupted him with a gesture of his hand and Lafayette fell silent. His eyes widened with a mixture of confusion and fear, and Washington realized that the boy had misread his meaning. 

“Oh no, do not worry, Marquis,” he quickly said, “I meant to say you need not concern yourself with the duration of your recovery. As soon as your health is restored, I shall be glad to welcome you back in camp, but for now, you will need time to heal.” 

Lafayette’s expression relaxed when he understood that Washington had not implied that he would be dismissed from the army. 

“I have already written to Congress about the battle, and I mentioned your brave conduct today. I am sure this will bring you closer to a future field command,” he added, causing a slight blush to creep onto Lafayette’s cheeks. 

“Thank you, Sir,” he said quietly and Washington gave him a small smile. “Though I regret I could not do more to avert our defeat,” he added.

Washington shook his head. “There was nothing you alone could have done differently. Quite the contrary, your conduct saved our army from the shame of running away like some wounded animal.” 

Lafayette nodded, appearing appeased by his words, at least for the time being. They both fell silent for a few moments. Washington let his glance wander around the small room, over the bloody bandages on the table, the bottle of alcohol Cochran had left behind in a hurry. Silent testimonies of what had happened here before Washington’s arrival. Oh, how he wished he could have kept the boy from harm, he thought, looking back at Lafayette.

“You gave me quite a worry today,” he admitted quietly, avoiding to meet the Marquis’ eyes. He did not know why he even told Lafayette about his concern but somehow the thought had slipped over his lips quicker than he had been able to hold it back. The boy appeared surprised at first which then turned into a somewhat concerned expression. 

“I do apologize, Sir, I did not mean to cause you any sorrow,” he said and Washington could tell from his tone that he meant what he said. 

“No need for an apology,” he said, “bravery comes at a cost from time to time. Though I do ask you to be attentive to your safety, once you will be back in combat. The army needs you.” 

Lafayette opened his mouth to reply, but Washington was faster.

"I need you," he added, quietly, as though it was a confession to make. Lafayette remained silent; apparently not quite sure about how to respond. The genuine smile and the damp glistening in the boy's eyes, however, told Washington that his words had not failed their purpose. He had not missed that Lafayette had grown quite attached to him during the past weeks, and he felt that the young man deserved to know that his affections were neither unwelcome nor unrequited. Yes, he had meant what he had said. He had a feeling that he was going to need Lafayette and the tender friendship that had begun to grow between them in the upcoming winter and in everything else this war was about to bring. 

Their quiet moment was disrupted by a horrible scream from the other side of the door - probably another injured soldier being carried into the church, Washington mused. He saw Lafayette flinch at the sound. Understandable, the boy's nerves were still on edge after his first ever battle, and Washington knew that it would take some time for him to get used to seeing the dark sides of war, as far as that was even possible. Washington was glad that Lafayette's injury had not caused him to make such horrifying sounds, as that would have been hard to bear. 

The sound of the injured soldier appeared to have reminded Lafayette of today's events, after he had been distracted by their conversation for some time. His eyes widened and the pained expression from earlier returned to his face. 

"Have I ever told you about my first experiences in combat?", Washington quickly asked, hoping that he would succeed in distracting the young man. 

Lafayette shook his head. "I believe not, Sir," he said, but he seemed as intrigued by the question as Washington had hoped. Too late he noticed that, from Lafayette's perspective, he had fought on the wrong side of the French and Indian War. He remembered reading that his father had been killed in combat on American soil and for a moment, he regretted bringing up the topic. Lafayette appeared to have guessed the reason for his hesitance.

"Oh, do not worry, Sir, I know that your army fought against my country. You cannot offend me with this. It was a different war and now your side is also my side," he said, and Washington gave him a barely visible smile, astonished by how easily Lafayette was able to read him. 

"Well, in that case, I shall be happy to bore you with this old story," Washington said, leaning back in his chair. The wounded would be transported to Philadelphia soon, and he figured it could not hurt to keep Lafayette company until then. 

"I fought in quite a number of battles during the war. I was around your age when I joined the Virginia regulars and I became an aide to Major-General Braddock. He was a fine officer, I admired him and grew quite attached to him. From him, I learned most of what I know today about European strategies on the field - quite useful, considering we are fighting the British now." 

He glanced over at Lafayette who was listening attentively. Apparently, his plan was working. 

"Well, one day, we were facing French and Indian troops near Monongahela river. It was obvious that we were outmanned, and the lower-ranking officers, including myself, asked Braddock to retreat. The proud general he was, however, he would not listen until it was too late. We were practically overrun. My horse was shot underneath me and I could only watch as more than half of our men died. Eventually, I was able to rally around 200 of the remaining men, but all we were able to achieve was a somewhat orderly retreat. It was far from glorious, as you can imagine." 

"What happened to General Braddock, Sir?", Lafayette asked after a few seconds of contemplative silence. 

Washington clenched his jaw. This was the part of his memories of the battle he disliked the most. 

"He was shot in the chest. A bullet brushed his arm and then pierced his lungs. He lived for another day, before death finally showed mercy with him." He swallowed thickly. "I buried him near the battlefield and ordered my men to march over his grave to prevent the Indians from discovering his body and mutilating it." 

Lafayette's eyes were full of compassion as he looked up at Washington. 

"I am sorry to hear that. It must have been terrible for you to lose your mentor," he said. From many others, his words might have sounded meaningless and not genuine, but somehow, Washington believed every word he said. 

"It was," he admitted, "However, Braddock's Defeat taught me to not dismiss the advice of my officers as easily as he did. I would not be commanding the American troops the way I do now, had it not been for that battle." 

Washington gazed out into the darkness of the night, lost in thoughts and memories. He hoped that there would never be a battle known as Washington's Defeat, for that would mean that the American cause was going to be lost forever. Before he could let his thoughts run too far away from reality, someone knocked at the door. 

"Come!" 

Washington turned around as the door opened. It was Dr. Cochran. His formerly white clothes were sprinkled with blood and although he was standing still, he sounded out of breath as he spoke. Understandable, Washington mused, since Cochran had been tirelessly treating the injured soldiers for half a day without a rest already.

"Your Excellency, I have just been informed that we are ready to move the injured men. I am certain that you will want to have the Marquis transported as soon as possible?", he inquired and Washington nodded. 

"Yes, thank you, Doctor." He cleared his throat and rose from his chair, straightening his coat with his hands. Somehow, he regretted that time had passed so quickly. He had enjoyed the conversation with Lafayette and he felt a small sting in his chest at the thought that it would take quite some time until he was going to see the young man again. 

"I must return to camp now," he said and collected his cloak from where he had left it hanging over the back of his chair. Turning toward Lafayette, he added: "I shall be happy to welcome you back there as soon as your health will allow it...Major General."

Washington watched Lafayette's eyes light up with pride as he addressed him with his rank. The boy had earned the title today and Washington knew that he had wanted to prove himself worthy ever since attaining it. He briefly leaned down and squeezed Lafayette's shoulder in a reassuring gesture, before he crossed the small room toward the door. Dr. Cochran was still standing in the doorframe. He gave Washington a tired but compassionate smile. 

"He will be alright," he said in a low voice, as though he had sensed Washington's concern for the Marquis. Washington nodded, clenching his jaw. 

"Take care of him as if he were my own son," he heard himself say quietly, as he allowed himself one last glance back into the room before tearing his eyes away. "For I love him the same," he added, even quieter, and it sounded more like a confession to himself than an order to the physician. Before Cochran could respond, Washington walked past him, out of the church and into the darkness of the night. As he mounted his horse, his thoughts were still occupied with worry about his young friend and the cautious realization that the boy was much dearer to him than he had dared to admit.


End file.
